Needs and Wants
by TVJunkie1013
Summary: It's all about what we want and what we need … MichaelxMahone SLASH!


**Title:** Needs and Wants

**Author:** Me

**Pairing:** Michael/Mahone

**Prompt:** #100 Writer's Choice - Want

**Rating:** M - Slash

**Word Count:** 1412

**Disclaimer:** Yeah … right. Like I own Prison Break. As if.

**Feedback:** Would kick ass. Constructive crit is welcome too.

**Summary:** It's all about what we want and what we need …

**A/N:** This is pretty much a PWP fic. Smut, pure and simple, with a side order of angst. And it's my first attempt at a Prison Break slash fic, so please, go easy on me.

* * *

He comes to me after midnight; cloaked by the darkness and the silence that falls over Sona once the animals have returned to their cages for the night. The inky black, broken only by small shafts of white moonlight, hides him from me. But I know his sound, his smell, his presence. Almost better than I know my own.

Hands that are familiar, yet foreign, reach out, desperate, insistent. They pull at my clothing; removing them hastily and without hesitation, then discarding them without thought. The cool air feathers over my nude body. I shiver as gooseflesh crawls along my skin. The depthless quiet is disturbed only by the sound of his clothes joining mine on the dirty, dusty floor. And the steady in and out of our breathing.

In the blink of an eye, I am on my back, pressed into the ratty, musty sack that pretends to be my bed. He hovers above me, his mouth grazing mine briefly before he begins his nightly ritual.

With his tongue and his lips and his fingers, he moves over my torso; following a well-worn path along my inked muscles. A path that only he -- and I -- understand. Pausing here, pausing there. In specific places. My body tingles in response. He is slow, deliberate, in his work, and by the time he settles his mouth over my erection, I am teetering on the brink of insanity, a scream choking at the back of my throat.

He wastes no time teasing me and instead, swallows me fully into his throat. His gag reflex engages, and the muscles tighten around my cock. He begins to hum. The vibrations, the warmth, the slickness of his skilled mouth sliding along my length pulls me closer and closer to the edge. I begin to fall. My hips buck, my back arches, but he pins me down with his strong hands. He doesn't allow me to go.

Over and over, he tortures me; takes me to the verge and drags me back.

My punishment, you see. For setting him up. For getting him stuck in here.

Finally, he relents and grants me my release. I hear myself moaning him name as I thrust into his mouth one last time. My seed unfurls down his throat and he swallows, his muscles squeezing tightly, pulling every drop of essence out of me.

Before I can recover, I am flipped onto my stomach and he repeats his ritual of tracing my tattoo. He has each twist, every turn memorized, mapped out, in his head. His tongue dips behind my shoulder blades as his fingertips kneed their way down my spine. When he slides them around my hips then tucks them into circle of my pelvis, I automatically rise to my knees. His tongue and fingers find, then work the tight, sensitive ring of muscle at the opening of my anus. The urge to rock against his hand overwhelms me. I push back, but he holds me firm. A soft groan of frustration sounds and I realize that it came from my own mouth. Moments later, the solid tip of his cock pushes into me. Though he enters slowly, there is still pain.

And it is exquisite. It makes me feel alive.

Then, his hips are pressed to my ass and he is completely inside of me. The dance begins. Our movements are fluid, practiced, yet beneath the surface, there is an element of fear. Of frenzied, uncontrollable panic. It burns through us like fire as we rock against each other, pushing us deeper, closer to the abyss.

Blood races through my veins. My breathing is short, choppy, ragged. Broken, muted sounds fill the darkness around us. The heat builds. The air crackles with electricity and it becomes heavier and heavier until it is suffocating. My eyes blur. I feel lightheaded. As I begin to drift into the black, the man behind me tenses. I feel strong hands wrapping around my shoulders and I am pulled upward until my back is pressing against his sweat-soaked chest. Then, his hands are back at my hips and my arms are crossed behind his neck. He thrusts once, hard, and my breath catches. His grip tightens, his fingernails cutting ten perfect crescents into my skin. He pulses warmly inside of me, his lips chanting my name softly in my ear.

Spent, his body gives out and he collapses. I manage to roll away before he crushes me. We lay for a long time, not speaking, not touching, just being. Then, he stands and fumbles around in the darkness, searching for his clothes. When he finds them, he dresses quickly and turns to leave.

"Alex," I say quietly. He doesn't respond, but stops in the doorway of my cell. "I need to ask you something."

Still silent, he turns to face me, his crystalline blue eyes glinting as they pass through a sliver of moonlight.

"Why the tattoo?" The man across from me tips his head to the side, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as a grin curls the edges upward. "Is there a reason why you're so," I pause, a grin of my own forming, "_obsessed_ with it?"

"That tattoo," he chuckles softly, "led me straight to you." He studies me for a moment. "You thought you were being so clever, didn't you? That no one would ever figure you or," Alex narrows his eyes slightly and slides his appreciative gaze over my still-naked body, "that out." When his eyes finally return to mine, they are filled with an unreadable emotion. It seems almost … predatory. "I guess you weren't clever enough."

I want to bite back with something witty. Something _clever_. But I don't. Instead, I stay mute and watch him walk away, cringing inwardly for admiring the way his muscles move beneath his filthy clothes. For allowing my breath to quicken at the very thought of tomorrow and what the night will bring.

His footsteps echo, then go silent. I sigh into the night and gather up my clothing. I redress and drop down onto my bunk. Every part of me is screaming out in exhaustion, but sleep refuses to come. So I stand and leave my cell. The darkness hides me as I make my way through the maze of broken rocks and scattered trash that litter the entire prison.

I'm not sure how he knew I'd be coming, but he is waiting for me; laying on his bunk, head propped up on the heel of one hand. There is no moonlight in his cell, but he smiles and his white teeth gleam brightly, as if they are a beacon for me to follow.

"Couldn't sleep?" his voice is low, throaty.

"No," I reply and enter, pulling off my clothing as I approach him. "You?"

"No," he stands and removes his own shirt.

"Were you waiting for me?"

"Of course," his jeans complete the pile of discarded clothes.

"How did you know I'd come?"

He answers by slamming his mouth down against mine.

* * *

There is no affection afterward -- there never is. In the morning, we will avoid each other at all costs. Just like we always do. And that is okay. This _thing _between us isn't about flowers and sunsets. We aren't in love and it's doubtful that we ever would be. Or would want to be. I'm not sure we even like each other that much.

But this isn't the real world. This is Sona, and in Sona, it's all about what you want and what you need and how you can get it.

I hate myself for wanting Alex Mahone. For needing him.

He is the man who murdered my father. He would have murdered Linc. He would have murdered me, too. For all I know, once I get him out of Sona, he still might try. But here, in this place, he is my want. He is my need. And I know that I am his. We are drawn together like moths to flames. It's undeniable. It's irresistible.

So until my time in this hell is over, I will give in to that need. To that want. And I won't feel guilt or shame for allowing myself to lose control. When I'm with Alex, he makes me feel alive.

A small comfort, maybe, but it's all I have.


End file.
